


How you get the girl

by mypassionfortrash



Series: Roger Taylor fics and one-shots [37]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Sharing a Bed, this will melt your heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:54:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25334206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mypassionfortrash/pseuds/mypassionfortrash
Summary: You've both had too many broken relationships to count, but you've always been the one constant in each other's lives. A last-ditch attempt at saving your friendship with Roger leads to an argument, and then a long overdue admission.
Relationships: Roger Taylor (Queen)/Reader
Series: Roger Taylor fics and one-shots [37]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1221674
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	How you get the girl

**Author's Note:**

> WHOA I WROTE A THING

Roger peered up over the bonnet. You could see that his brows were furrowed; you recognised that look. “The electrics have gone and I can’t get the fuse to go back in.”

“What do you mean, ‘the electrics have gone’?” You asked, stepping out of the car. You prayed you could fix the situation. After all, the start of your continental adventure had been an uncomfortable attempt at salvaging your friendship at best. “Here, let me have a look.”

Roger protested and tried to stand in your way. “No, they’ve really gone and I don’t think you–“

But you barged past him and hunched over the engine bay, eyeing up the spaghetti junction of wires Roger had managed to mangle. “I’ve been pulling these things apart since I was a kid… how hard can it be?”

“It’s an Aston Martin though. It’s a bit different from a tractor, darling.”

You glanced up at the ferocious grey clouds rolling across the sky. “Fuck this, I’m walking.”

“What?” Roger asked, holding out his hands to stop you.

“Well the roof isn’t going to pull over and we’re going to get soaked if we don’t move.”

“We can just call for help. I can’t leave the car here. It’s expensive,” he shrugged, dragging the sleeves of his pullover up his arms. “I’m sure there’s a payphone somewhere.”

“We’re in the middle of fucking France, Roger. With your shitty expensive car that doesn’t even work. Where the fuck’s the payphones?” You wittered, flinging your arms out by your sides. “I don’t see them!”

“Tell you what, you go and you make yourself useful. Rather than screaming at me,” Roger said, red faced and riled, “you go and find a fucking payphone.”

“Give me some francs then, rich boy.”

Roger pursed his lips together and reached into his back pocket. Then he flicked a handful of coins at you, sending them clinking to the ground.

“Do you know what,” you began, an air of steely calm washing over you, “I’m just going to keep walking. This isn’t fun anymore. You’re not fun anymore.”

“Oh, right because you’re a barrel of laughs, you moody cow. Done nothing but complain since we left. Go!”

You were already a hundred paces away from Roger by the time he finished his rant. A hundred more, and you threw a curious glance over your shoulder. He was still standing in front of his car, watching you leave into the grey and green distance as fast as your legs could carry you. No cash. No luggage. No clue.

You walked and walked and kept walking. Even as the clouds collided up above, and the heavens opened. All you could do was wrap your arms around your body for some semblance of protection. No cars passed for hours. Not even a tow for Roger’s. Why would they? You were miles from the nearest village.

Then, as night fell, an orange glow shot a path ahead. The gentle purr of an engine approached from behind. You would have known it anywhere. You had wasted so much time listening to it in the last 36 hours, between all of the awkward small talk.

Knowing you couldn’t outrun it, you still quickened your pace, battling against the mid-July downpour.

“It’s not safe for a beautiful girl like you to be wandering around in the middle of nowhere,” a voice called from the car crawling beside you.

“I see you’ve got it up and running then,” you muttered. “Well done.”

“Come on, get back in,” Roger urged. “You’ll catch your death out here in just that dress.”

“No thank you.”

“At least let me stop and get your coat out.”

“Piss off, Roger.”

“You’re a real bitch sometimes, do you know that?”

Before you could answer, Roger’s Aston Martin tore off with a screech that made you wonder whether there was anything wrong with it in the first place, leaving you alone again, stumbling through the night.

You wandered for what felt like an eternity down the road in front of you – all five feet ahead that you could see at any given moment – emboldened by the residual anger you felt towards your best friend. Until, way off in the distance, you spied a tiny golden speck of light. You couldn’t be sure whether it was your exhausted brain playing cruel tricks on you, but you could almost feel the radiant warmth of whatever it was. That last mile was the hardest, but the thought of what might be waiting for you kept you going. Even though your feet were in agony and your clothes were soaked through and your whole body just ached and ached but was still so numb that you had to dig your fingernails into your folded arms just to feel anything at all. Stopping now wasn’t an option.

And then it became clearer with every weary step. The details of the quaint bed and breakfast sharpened. The chimney stack, streaming pale ribbons out into the starry blue yonder. The comforting aura seeping from the windows. And the car parked up at the door.

Roger had beaten you to it. And you cursed him for it.

With your hand on the door handle, you hesitated. But the warmth radiating from the place was far too inviting.

Stepping inside, you were greeted by a small, stout woman, sitting behind a rickety reception desk. She looked half-asleep, with her chins pressed to her chest and her half-moon glasses clinging to the tip of her nose. The only thing that gave her away was the book in her hands, still upright.

“Excuse me?” you said, glancing through to the bar area on your right. Roger was where you expected him to be. Propping up the bar.

The woman tapped the desk to get your attention.

“Sorry,” you said, shaking your head. “Do you speak… um… Parlez-vous… shit! English? Anglais?”

“My English is clearly better than your French. No surprises there,” she said, standing up. Then she tapped the sign behind her – ‘complet.’ “Can you read that?”

You shook your head, feeling the shame rush to your face.

“It means we are full. A beautiful gentleman got the last room. He speaks French very well, too.”

Your heart sank enough to get the woman to feel sorry for you.

“But since you are in this state,” she began, “there are sofas through in the bar. You may sleep on one tonight, free of charge.”

“Thank you.”

“I must warn you that the bar does not close, however.”

“That’s no problem. Thank you,” you said.

Wandering through, you hauled yourself on to a stool at the opposite side of the bar to Roger. He was looking rather pleased with himself, eyeing you over the rim of his glass of dry white. Then he produced a small, pewter coloured key from between his fingers with a smirk. “Got the last room for you,” he said.

“That’s big of you.”

“I’m just being a good friend.”

You rolled your eyes and looked away from him.

“You’re soaked. At least go upstairs and have a warm shower. I brought your suitcase up. Your pyjamas are over the heater.”

“Where are you going to sleep?”

“Like you care,” he chuckled.

“I care if I have to get into a car with you in the morning.”

“Oh, so now you’re back in?”

“Of course not. You’re going to drive me to the nearest airport.”

“Thought so.”

“But seriously, where are you sleeping?”

Roger cocked his head to one of the threadbare sofas that lined the room. “I’ll make do.”

Sinking your teeth into your lower lip, your eyes darted between Roger and where he planned to sleep for a moment. And then you gave in. “We can share, can’t we? It wouldn’t be weird, would it?”

Roger shrugged. “It’ll be like when we were kids.”

You scowled, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be like that at all. But you still snatched the key from Roger and marched over to the foot of the staircase in the far corner of the room with him hot on your heels. “Which room is it?” you asked.

“Room two,” he said. “It’s just at the top of this flight of stairs.”

At that point you were grateful you didn’t have to walk much further to get some rest – and to get out of your dress. It felt like it weighed ten times what it was supposed to as it swaddled you with each step. Slipping the key into the lock and pushing the door open, what greeted you made your heart race and your tired eyes bulge. “There’s only one bed,” you stated.

“Yeah, I was trying to tell you that,” Roger sighed, slipping past you to get inside.

“It’ll be fine,” you said, trying to reassure yourself. “We’re adults. Friends. Nothing weird. No touching.”

Roger was in the middle of shedding his jumper and pulling on a clean t-shirt when he paused, raising an eyebrow. “What on earth are you babbling about?”

“Sorry,” you said, clicking open your suitcase in search of your washbag. “It’s been a bitch of a day.”

“I thought this would make everything alright again. This week. You’re my best friend.” Roger’s expression softened as he came over to you and unfastened the top couple of buttons on your dress.

But you recoiled as if the proximity burned you. You didn’t want to allow yourself to be touched by him. “What are you doing?” you asked, your voice wavering.

“You’re going to catch your death. Look, you’re soaked through.”

Looking down at your sodden sundress, you remembered what your plan was. It was so easy for Roger to derail your thoughts sometimes. “I’m going to take a boiling hot shower.”

“And I’ll try not to hog the blanket.”

Roger was already asleep when you got out of the shower, having claimed the side of the bed closest to the door like he usually did, and you felt no shame in pulling on your pyjamas in the middle of the room. After all, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before even if he was awake. Then, you eased yourself into the creaky double bed beside him, taking care to leave a void between your bodies, and gently pulling a corner of the blanket over you. Finally, you switched off your bedside lamp, plunging you both into darkness.

Whatever bad blood there was between you and Roger, it could wait until the morning.

Except it couldn’t.

No sooner had you began to drift off, but Roger was prodding your side.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Can we talk?”

You pressed your fingers into your closed eyes with a groan. “Roger, it’s late.”

“Please.”

“About today or the last god knows how many years?”

“Both.”

With another groan and a flick of the lamp switch you agreed to parlé.

Roger flopped down on to his back with a thud. You both looked like corpses lying side by side in their own little plots. “I’ve been a dick,” he whispered again.

“Me too.”

“That goes without saying. Why did we stop doing this when I met Cheryl?”

You shrugged. But the burning in the back of your eyes and the knot in your stomach was too much to ignore. “I had just had enough of seeing you with beautiful women.”

“What?”

“But that’s not the point. You were always the one slagging off every boyfriend I’ve ever had. It’s like I was never allowed to be happy.”

“Because they were absolute dickswabs and, to be fair, I tend to realise that before you do.”

“Right. So, you’re just looking out for me. But when I do it, I’m needy, jealous and clingy. Right.”

Roger puffed out his cheeks and stared blankly at the ceiling. His heart was dangerously close to shooting out of his mouth like a great dead fish. He thought about the absurdity of that image for a moment. His heart flopping around in the space between you. The look on your face would have been priceless. He just didn’t want to have this conversation. He wasn’t ready.

“All I’m saying is that you have a very specific type. Blonde. Leggy. Bit of a slapper.”

“So do you: Grade A arseholes.”

“Maybe that’s why I…”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me.”

You had said far too much. Rolling on to your side, you switched the lamp off again. “Goodnight, Roger.”

Roger still continued to whisper. “Just so you know, I only date girls like that because there’s no way you would put up with half the shit I get up to when I’m away.”

Intrigued by that last admission, you turned on to your back again.

“But then again, maybe I wouldn’t misbehave if… I don’t know…”

“You said it yourself. I only date arseholes. You would be painfully on brand for me,” you pondered. “I’ve also seen you do far worse when we were kids.”

You felt the weight of Roger’s eyes on you in the dark before he spoke. “I thought this week we could be just like that for a while. Because I really miss you. And I can’t believe how much time we’ve wasted.”

“I can’t believe you’ll be thirty-five next week.”

Roger chuckled. “You’re not far off it either. But that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“I always thought you’d be the person I’d… I don’t know… do life with. And then everything that happened happened. And now I’m 35 and I’ve got nothing good to show for it. And I guess what I’m really trying to say is that I love you. Really love you. Always have. Always will. And do you know what? I don’t care if you don’t love me back. That’s fine. I can deal with it.”

Silence hung heavy in the space between you and Roger as your mind kicked into overdrive. The rug had been whipped out from under your feet and everything you believed to be true about Roger’s feelings towards you simply wasn’t. It had all been one great lie at worst. At best a misunderstanding that had lasted since you were five years old when you saw Roger kiss a girl named Sally Parker in the playground.

“I’ve just… poured my heart out here. Can you– can you just bloody say something? Please?”

“I never ever thought I was enough for you. All my life,” you sighed. “And I couldn’t let it get to me, seeing you with all the… Sally Parkers of the world! They’ve all got to be models. And I’m not a model.”

“Sally Parker got fat though, and I’m pretty sure she became a junkie,” Roger chuckled, propping himself up on his elbow. “And you know I only kissed her to make you jealous, right? You’re really crying over her?”

“You should’ve just told me, because I always loved you back and we’ve wasted all this fucking time!”

“Really?” Even though the room was dark, you could picture Roger’s eyes widening wildly as he spoke. Then he lay down beside you again. “So, what do we do now?”

“I’m still cold. Can I have a cuddle?”

“I was hoping, I don’t know, that we could get married. Have babies. Make up for lost time,” Roger joked, slinging his arm around your side and pressing his chest to your back. He took in the scent of your skin and relished the way you fit him so perfectly, letting himself drift and mumble a bit more. “This is a good start, though.”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

* * *

Something tickled Roger’s chest and roused him from his sleep and made the thin wisps of hair on his chest prickle and dance in time to soft exhalations. He was quick to become annoyed at the best of times, but not today. He gazed down at the mop of hair resting against his body and he was sure that this really would be the best trip of his life. And he couldn’t wait a second longer to spend it with you.

The storm had passed, and rays of light streamed in from the shutters. Roger’s heart began to race.

His impending birthday reminded him that his time, and yours, was hopelessly finite. And he was torn. He could have watched you sleep for ever. Or he could glance over at you beside him with the wind in your hair, screaming along to the radio on a journey to god knows where. Either would have been perfect for him as long as he got to do it with you.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that it caught him off guard when you began to stir and groan, removing your face from his side. Wiping the thread of drool that tethered you to him. And fixing your hair, as soon as you realised that he was awake.

“You look beautiful,” he smiled, sweeping the rest of it from your face.

“And I suppose you love morning breath, too.”

“Actually,” he smirked, leaning down, “it’s my favourite.”

He gave you a quick peck on the lips before letting you voice your horror. “You’re disgusting.”

“I know.”

A beat passed and you both prodded at the memories of the wee small hours that came before, and everything that had transpired. But the silence never once felt uncomfortable.

Falling on to your back, you allowed Roger to curl strands of your hair around his fingertips. “Do you know where the nearest church is?” You pondered.

“Got a map in the car. Why?”

“It’s probably a good place to start, really.”

Roger hauled himself up and loomed over you, beaming down at you like a ray of sunshine. “You mean you want to… You know…” He trailed off bashfully. “Marry me?”

“I mean we could try it.”

“And if it doesn’t work, then you’re absolutely welcome to take me to the cleaners.”

“Your mum’s going to be livid.”

* * *

An hour later, you and Roger sat side by side in his car. Somehow, in an inexplicable moment of foresight, you had packed a white sundress, and he managed to bring one good shirt – just in case. Suitable attire for the occasion.

Roger studied you while you studied the map, trying to pinpoint where the nearest church might be.

“We need rings.”

Your head shot up. “What?”

“Rings,” Roger repeated, holding up his left hand.

Your nose burned, and then an almighty series of sneezes burst from your body. “Sorry,” you said with tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Rings. Wedding. And then bed for you,” Roger laughed, handing you a hanky. “And not in the sexy way.”

“That’s what I get for being stubborn.”

“No more than me.”

“There’s a village about three miles – kilometres – away. Could try there?”

“Right,” Roger grinned, putting the car in gear. “Come on, Mrs Taylor, before the lurgy bumps you off.”


End file.
